Ace Spencer Rubin Scholarship

I learned how to tie my shoes in second grade. The task was minuscule for the typical seven-year-old, so much so that my peers would purposely untie and retie their shoes to demonstrate their mastery. It was a criterion defining the elementary elite, and I couldn’t check the box. Every night, I would spend hours working through hundreds of failed attempts only to become more frustrated with myself -- I was determined to free myself from the confines of my mother’s double-knotted tie. A friend provided some guidance: he got it right away and then walked me through step-by-step. With each attempt, I progressed, but my patience withered as I couldn’t get a grip on the laces. Nevertheless, I swallowed my frustration, ultimately tying my first knot. It wasn’t neat, but I was elated. Not only because now my shoelaces wouldn’t drag on the floor when they came untied, but because this was the first challenge I conquered having half of a right arm. Life with one arm may be seen as a burden from others’ perspectives. The uncertainty and added difficulty of succeeding at otherwise easily conquerable feats rings in the minds of onlookers - and that quickly translates to sympathy, which, despite coming from a kind and considerate place, can be stagnating. Certainly, I’ve learned that the willingness to authentically disregard fear and persevere is not an easy undertaking. And while I am unequivocally grateful for the support and sacrifice my family, friends,